


his arms are all around me and his tongue in my eyes

by StrangeHormones



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bondage, Dark Peter Parker, Dubious Consent, F/M, Masturbation, Overstimulation, Somnophilia, Unprotected Sex, Voyeurism, drugged, self deception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeHormones/pseuds/StrangeHormones
Summary: 18+dark!peter parker x reader|  for it’s much too late to get away or turn on the light, the spiderman is having you for dinner tonight - lullaby, the cure
Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 100





	his arms are all around me and his tongue in my eyes

**Author's Note:**

> based of lullaby by the cure. if you listen while you read it....

You’ve known Peter for years but you’ve never seen the black look that flitted across his already dark eyes. It’s just a second, so fleeting you’re almost sure you imagined it. There’s a quivering under your skirt that tells you no but you mastered battering down the carnal reactions Peter gave you a long time ago. You blame it on the dim lights of his apartment’s tiny foyer and how easily your brain was moving on from your very recent ex-boyfriend. Not that it had ever truly been completely focused on him in the first place but it wasn’t as if you could tell either of the men that. It wasn’t the cheating that surprised you, it was how quickly he had devolved into not caring if he got caught or not. It was the nerve to keep on fucking that woman while you packed up your things. As if somehow it might hurt you. It doesn’t really, just pisses you off, but you can’t tell Peter that. There’s a lot recently you can’t tell him, not because you don’t want him to know but because him knowing doesn’t do any real good. Unless the goal was to make your friendship insanely uncomfortable until it fizzled out of existence entirely. No, this seemed to be one of those rare occasions where lying was better.

“He’s fucking Gwen,” you say with a laugh that he would read as holding back feelings when it was only sarcastic, “She is _very_ loud,” he takes the duffel off your shoulder and welcomes you into the cramped one-bedroom, “No wonder he had such unrealistic expectations from me, huh?”

You swear it’s there again, “I told you he was an asshole,” closing the door and stepping around you, “If you’d just listened to me...” he doesn’t drop your duffel by the couch as you expect but sets it just inside his bedroom.

“You’re right,” you sighed, but at least he had been a distraction. Keeping your mind off the man who was now pulling you into his arms, “I thought I’d be more upset.”

There’s truth to it. You thought losing your distraction would be closer to the loss of a favorite toy but instead, it just abandoned you. Leaving an even greater ache for your friend in its wake. No doubt it had been growing, evolving beneath the band-aid Eddie had been for the last few months. You slip your arms around his waist, trying not to breathe in his smell to deeply or caress every corded muscle beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. You just stand there for a few minutes, letting all the feelings being this close to Peter incites wash over you because who knew how long it’d be until you were in his arms like this again. All things must come to an end though, and he steps away with that comforting smile you know so well. You’re glad you’re still wearing your hoodie, the lack of pressure realizing somewhere along the way your body had continued to respond to his presence with arousal. It was time for bed, it was late and you were riding the high of being almost violently angry at Eddie, if only because he was going to stain your very expensive couch. 

“I’ll make the bed while you get ready, alright?” reaching forward and squeezing your wrist, you hope he doesn’t notice your breath hitch.

Just like that, it was as if nothing happened, you’d stay here a week while Eddie moved out his stuff. You’d redecorate, spend a few months single, and then put yourself back out there. Only to end up right back here with Peter, at this point you couldn’t deny it was purposeful. You just weren’t exactly sure how to stop, or even if you wanted to. No matter how many times you did this, the aftermath never seemed to change and for a few glorious days, you were his whole world. Even if it would only ever be that way. You slip out of your skirt, making sure to wad your wet panties in them before dumping them in the hamper. Your bra follows suit and you yank on your sleep shorts, moving your tank top back into place. Making quick work of brushing your teeth and washing your face, you stumbled into Peter’s room.

This part is different. Normally you make yourself at home on the couch for a few days. But Eddie was different, he had last longer, maybe because both of you were using each other and neither was ready to admit defeat. It was nice to know you had won that particular tug-o-war. But he doesn’t see that, he thinks you’re hurting because it’s been so long. That the pain hasn’t quite kicked it. Because he doesn’t know, he thinks the best of you, for some unknown reason. It’s everything him. Pieces of tech, new and old, half-done projects. It’s so much like his room growing up. Except it’s tidy, everything seems to have an actual place, and the bed is much larger. You remember helping him haul in the antique iron-wrought bed frame that seemed almost imposing against the dark red sheets and scarlet blankets. He’s pulled back the corner, hands in his jean pockets, with that desperate for approval look you know so well.

“Thanks for all of this,” smiling at him when you sat on the edge of the bed, “I’ve got to stop doing this to you.”

“No,” he shook his head, looking as if he wanted to do something and had decided better of it, “Never be sorry for coming here,” breaking into a sudden smile, “While I’m here I might as well tuck you in.”

“Oh god,” you moaned, feigning embarrassment but actually greatly enjoying him pulling the blankets over you, “Night, Peter.”

He flipped off the light, “Sweet dreams,” closing the door.

It was different, alone in the dark of his room. Surrounded by his smell on all sides, knowing he’d laid exactly where you had now. You could feel the apex of your thighs dampening. And though it took everything in you, you controlled yourself. There had to be a line and right now this was it. Masturbating in his bed wasn’t something you could take back and even as the added knowledge of that made your head spin, you pushed yourself deeper into the blankets. With great difficulty and damp sleep shorts, you managed to fall into some semblance of sleep. 

***P***

She’s kicked the blankets away, the tank top is ridden up, she’s exposed and beautiful. I made sure it was different this time, no more couch, where the street lights and sounds of traffic keep the senses half alert at all times. In the dark and quiet, she falls into one of those deep sleeps that come from true comfort. She hadn’t mattered to Eddie, to any of them, they always treated her so badly. A part of me thanks them though, every time it sends her running into my arms. Ever since high school. Bit by bit until the only person man she’d ever really trust was me. It’s good she thinks she’s chosen to be like this, a part of her has it is true but it wouldn’t have happened without me. A little rumor there, a well-timed run in here, even MJ had been strategically planned. That moment when she experienced what the world would be like without my love, without me there to take care of her. When she’d just about completely shattered into pieces, I reappeared, complaining of how poorly the woman had treated me, the cruel things she had said about her, and in an instant, I became the most important thing in her life. Just as she had always been in my life.

This is the night, tonight it changes. Not a lot, it’s just a step, but I can’t contain my excitement. It would be easy to make a move, it’s not like she’d resist me, not at this point. But it’s not enough, it has to be her. I need her to ache for me as much as I do for her. I need it to be the only thing she thinks about anymore. It isn’t hard for me to move silently across the room, stopping at the side of the bed. Her breaths are long and slow, she’s pretty deep which is good, it’ll be the best time for this. Take a breath to steady myself, I move forward with my plan. It’s for the best, she’ll never have to know. And even if she finds out by the time that happens she’ll be so in love with me it won’t matter. No time for going back.

I pull her wadded up panties from my waistband, the ones she tried to hide. I always looked and there was something kismet about their appearance. Her drenched panties appearing on the night when I would need them most. I set them on the nightstand within easy grabbing distance. My eyes turn to her tank top, it’s already mostly up and a little more won’t hurt. It wasn’t in the original plan but plans evolved. That’s how I’d ended up here after all. 

She doesn’t even twitch when I raise her shirt. Whether it’s my light grip, how slowly I’m moving or that she’s completely out I’m not sure but it’s not worth taking any chances. Inch by aching inch it rises up until both perfect breasts fall into view with a light bounce. It’s so hard not groan, to wrap my hands around them and squeeze, but I can’t be too eager. I’ve managed to be patient this long I can hold it together a few more days. I can’t help myself from dragging my fingers over her nipples that now strained in the cold as I pulled my hands back. It went straight to my cock and was exactly the nudge I needed. With one hand I grabbed her wrist, watching it hand limp in my grasp, perfectly pliable. I bit my lip, the moan becoming a hum in my throat when I ease the front of my boxers down.

Her head turns, I pause, her lips smack and fall open. I breathe out, the way her hair curls over her eyes it’s almost like she’s awake. That drives any sense of doubt from my mind. I work for my hand around hers, placing it on my cock. It’s so soft, better than anything I’d ever imagined. I gulp, steeling my nerves as I curl her fingers around me. I let out a ragged breath, chancing a look down. This time I do groan, I can’t help it. How pretty she is around me is just like I dreamt and it drives my plan home. Not just for tonight but every night after. I move her up and down, reaching for the panties by the nightstand for their intended purpose. Between her hand, her exposed chest, and the scent of her in my nostrils it isn’t far fall over the edge. For that one perfect moment, it’s real. She’s waiting eagerly for me to adorn her body with my cum and I do from hip to chest. 

Working through the comedown, I finally release her hand, it drops dead weight with the smallest pearls threatening to drip from it. I work the panties over her skin gently, scraping most of it off, between sweat and time the rest will sink into her skin. I’m already half-hard again at the thought but I can’t follow it through. I move toward her tank top before stopping, watching perfect tits rise and fall with deep breaths. When I dry on her fingers it’ll be indistinguishable from her own dried juices. At least in the drowsiness of the morning, especially if she’s exposed, leaving her thinking all day of what she had done to herself in her sleep. I pull my boxers up making sure nothing else is out of place before moving ever so quietly out the door.

I step into the bathroom, dropping the panties clearly and deliberately on top of the pile. Tomorrow morning she’ll see them, wadded and crusty with my cum. She’ll wonder, try to convince herself that there’s some plausible reasoning she’s not thinking of just like always. Somewhere deep inside she’ll imagine the tame thing she thought I did, wrapping them around myself instead of her own perfect hand. It will live in her mind all tomorrow, along with what she must’ve done. Tomorrow is sure to bring more surprises I hadn’t quite planned, I’m giddy. It’s almost impossible to sleep but somehow I manage. If only to bring tomorrow even closer.

***Y***

You woke earlier than normal, probably because you hadn’t spent half the night fighting off Eddie’s half-assed advances or screaming at each other. For the first time in a long time, you felt actually rested though you weren’t given much of a chance to enjoy it as much as you would have hoped. There was a familiar tingle, you opened your eyes suddenly, looking down at your exposed breasts with their straining nipples in the morning coolness. Your finger twitched, something dry that had no doubt once been sticky smeared across her fingers. You groaned, your conscious mind had barely avoided committing the sin how could you have expected your subconscious to act any better? You shook your head, sitting up and yanking down your shirt. There really was something wrong with you, there just had to be. Stretching you climbed to your feet and made your way to the bathroom.

The second shock came when you were relieving yourself. Hamper right in eye line, you were reminding yourself to get those and a couple other things together, make some excuse about doing laundry to make up for taking his bed from him. Except they weren’t wadded up in your skirt, you absolutely knew you had. You always did. So why were they on top? Flushing the toilet and washing your hands, you reached down plucking thumb between your thumb and forefinger. The bounced and stretched a little but mostly retained their shape, something that was not an effect of your own arousal. At least, not that much of it. An image of your host flashed in your mind, your panties wrapped- you dropped them. Coffee, it would wake you up, allow you to think clearly, and calm your nerves. You’re sure this is all just a reaction to your sluggish brain and after a cup of joe, you’ll be right as rain.

Stepping into the kitchen Peter was just beginning to pour himself a mug, it took a second for your eyes to take in that his only attire was a mass of sleep tangled curls and some pajama pants that hung dangerously low on his hips. It’s like you had fallen asleep and woken up in one of your lusty fantasies, you had to remind yourself that this was the real world. There was an explanation for the panties, he was not trying to seduce you, the only thing you knew for sure was what you had inevitably done in his bed while you no doubt dreamt of him. He held it out for you with that soft grin. It seemed strange he made no hurry to put on a shirt but you supposed you’d been friends long enough, there were things that adult friends were no longer embarrassed by as they were when they were teenagers. 

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, taking a sip from the cup he must’ve poured before you walked in and leaning against the counter, “Comfortable?”

“Yeah, very,” you shot back, taking a long sip of just a little too hot coffee to calm your nerves, “Seriously, thanks again, Peter. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He shook his head, cheeks tinting the barest bit pink, “Really it’s no problem, I like having you around. You just stay as long as you need alright. And...” he sighed, stepping forward and gripping your bicep gently, “If he comes around let me deal with, alright? You shouldn’t have to go through that.”

His hand, the image of him fighting Eddie for your honor, it’s too much. You manage to smile, a shaky nod, feeling like the worst person as wetness bloomed between your legs. He was being so kind and here you were-

“Well, then I’ll at least play maid,” he opened his mouth to protest, you don’t know why but you dared to place your hand gently against his mouth, “No arguments. It’s only fair,” they’re soft, you swear for a second they press forward but that can’t be right, “But let me wake up first,” dropping your hand with a laugh and watching as he dropped his.

“Well, thanks,” swallowing down the last of his cup quickly, “I gotta shower, and then I’ve got a mountain of online homework.”

You cursed, knowing there was no way you could even think about mentioning laundry until after he’d already showered, “If I’m in the way or bothering-”

“Never, alright?” stepping around her and making his way down the short hall.

The basket must’ve gotten knocked over and he just threw it back together. As for their overly crinkled nature, that had to have been her, right? There was no other explanation. Even if Peter was interested in you, which he wasn’t, he didn’t exactly seem like the type to steal your dirty panties and use them to cum. As amazing an image it was filling your mind now that he left the room and your could freely grind your thighs together. It was a bit more intense a reaction than you had expected from one of your least steamier images of him. Maybe it was his proximity when it had first popped into your brain. Whatever the case, you had to get yourself under control. Polishing off your mug, you splashed water on your face and made your way towards the bedroom. The water had just started when you closed the bedroom door. You’d change and do a tidy of the living room, it looked like it could use a little love. That had been your intent and you would maintain that until the day you died because you did a lot of questionable things but there was a line when it comes to intentional, borderline despicable things. 

You had your clothes laid out, comfy clothes. You had just pulled on your thin ‘at home’ bra as you called it. It was just as an adjustment, making sure they were comfortable before you pulled on your shirt and it became an adventure to deal with. Innocent. When your fingers curled under your left breast, preparing to lift and your palm brushed an oddly still straining nipple, the heat between your legs refused to be ignored. You wondered how it could be so strong if you had-

“Ah,” you cried out, realizing now you had taken the nub between your fingers and pinched, “Alright, fast,” you panted, yanking the fabric underneath your breasts and freely giving the same treatment to both.

It feels so much better than normal, there really is something wrong with you. It’s like they’re hooked straight to your pussy, making it throb and leak, your so glad you hadn’t put on fresh panties yet. There’s no finesse, it’s relieving an ache. And afterward, you’ll be able to think straight. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself so you feel less guilty about this as well as the reminder that you had obviously already done it so what would punishing yourself do. Really you were just weak and needy. Your fingers dipped between your folds, almost dripping, clit straining, and begging to be touched. You worked at it quickly, trying to abuse your nipple in the same rhythm. It was rough, a pleasant but harsh reminder that this was wrong. Friends didn’t touch themselves in each other's rooms, they certainly didn’t imagine the things you did. Like Peter wrapping your panties between his cock and his hand, stroking till he’d drenched them with his cum. The thought sending you over the edge.

“ _Fuck, Peter_ ,” you groan as you touch the highest peak when all that matters is your orgasm and the image.

Then the sudden fall, feeling yourself convulse against your hand, and satiation fell over you. At least it was supposed to, instead your body simply begged for more things you couldn’t give it. A small cry came from your throat as you ripped your hands from your body and threw on your clothes, scurrying from the room to wash your hands. Guilt. Shame. It hung over you like a black cloud. If Peter could see it he didn’t say anything. Just thanked you for washing the dishes and went to work like he said he would. You hang out on the couch, answering e-mails, and working on the next few articles Jameson wanted up on the website. There was something to be said for cutting your teeth on fluff articles, it made taking time to yourself a lot easier. You had tested once and you had managed to go 16 days without having to step foot inside the office, a great comfort to you. Mostly because you weren’t in the mood to be called a _cold-hearted bitch_ or have Gwen try to stutter out some half-assed apology on the notion of girl power like they owed either of each other anything. 

Occasionally Peter would spin around and ask you a question. You fixed up lunch for both of you, he worked through it. You had to give him credit, he worked hard to keep up with his online classes. It couldn’t be easy with everything else in his life. It always made you wonder why he was so insistent you stay with him? Weren’t you just another burden? He was so kind and what did you do? Eddie had been right about you; _there is something actually wrong with your brain. You are broken!_ You flinched, it was the only thing he’d ever said in a fight that had actually hurt you, not that you had shown it at the time. Then you ripped up his back till he bled all while biting your lip to stop from calling for-

“You wanna order Chinese?” he asked suddenly, climbing from the desk chair and closing the lid of his laptop, “I need crab rangoon in the next hour or I will die. Which would be very uncomfortable for you to explain.”

You laughed, yanking out your phone, “My treat, at least,” he rolled his eyes but accepted the phone from you all the same.

After ordering enough Chinese food to last you through at least tomorrow, you wrapped up your work and closed up your laptop, slipping it into the satchel leaning against the coffee table. The television had come on almost instantly and almost the entire time waiting for food to arrive was spent being indecisive about what to put on. You knew your mind wouldn’t focus on anything that played, they never did, not for long anyway. All too quickly you’d focus on better, timing your glances to avoid his. The littlest movements, the lightest brushes, a little bit of time where it could feel like he was really your whole world. That has its own pound of flesh to cut in return. 

You eat more food than is probably smart, it at least distracts from the ache between your legs that had dulled but never completely left. You’re sure it hasn’t been helping with your guilt. He throws on Friday the 13th, knowing there’s a bunch more to follow if teenagers getting stabbed seems to do. Halfway through the first one, you’re both complaining of overeating as you paused the movie and tidied up. Collapsing back on the couch, Peter dimmed the living room lights, taking his normal spot at the other end of the couch. Ten minutes was spent you trying to spread out without invading his space to relieve both your overfilled belly and either apply just enough pressure or none at all between your legs. 

“How long have we known each other?” he asks, patting his thigh, “It’s better than whatever this is,” waving at you.

You force a laugh, gingerly laying just your ankles on the ends of his knees. He rolls his eyes at you, repositioning till they’re spread comfortably across his actual lap. It’s like you’ve died and gone to have, twice in two days. He watches, bottom lip between his teeth, and you watch him. Flicking your eyes to the screen every time his face even threatens to twitch. You’re almost finished with the second one when you’ve dozed off. Stomach full and comfortable, heavy drowsiness suddenly seemed to overtake you.

“Hey,” your eyes shot open suddenly but they were still so heavy and you could only keep them half-open, “Alright, let’s get you to bed,” you urged your leg to move but it wouldn’t, humming low in your throat, “I don’t think carrying you is going to be an issue for me.”

It wasn’t. He slid you gently into the bed, pulling the blankets over you and wishing you goodnight just as he had the night before. It was back to dozing in a second, the bed felt so soft. The blankets like silk against your skin even though you knew they weren’t. Somewhere comfortable between sleep and awake where all your bad thoughts couldn’t get to. High on the feeling of your legs against Peter’s, how he’d absent-mindedly rubbed your ankle beneath your yoga pants to the skin just above. Your yoga pants, they felt tight, restrictive. You used the discomfort to will your limbs to move, bringing you a strange moment of awareness. As if pulled out of a fog everything felt so sharp. The complete silence and darkness around you, allowing you to forget and feel the sudden pleasurable shudders that ran up your body as they had all day. But they seemed stronger now as if your lazy daydream had kept them at bay. You worked the pants off, the same with your t-shirt. Panties and top, it covered the important parts, falling back into the blankets. Feeling more of it against your skin, rolling deep into the comfort and the smell of him you drifted off seamlessly into dreams of him.

***P***

I thought I had prepared for everything the day could throw at me. Everything had gone not just to plan but even better than to plan. Enough to move up my timetable, at least. I hadn’t expected her to react so well, thinking I’d start with the smallest dose and steadily up so it didn’t seem suspicious. She had barely needed anything, he wouldn’t ask why just be thankful that was the case. I stood outside the door, listening, _waiting_.

Just like I had that morning, though then I’d been tucked against the upper corner of the closet, peeking over its top edge to watch her because so desperate so quickly. Forcing herself to come undone in some vain hope it would relieve whatever was happening, it normally would have. I almost felt bad for her but then she said my name and nothing else mattered. Broken, barely held together as she tumbled over the edge in some sort of relief. It didn’t stick around, that was the point, wasn’t it? I just hadn’t quite thought about how it would affect me, which honestly still didn’t seem that important. Until I ducked in the shower and all I could see or think about was her and those moments. Over and over. I stroked myself off, finding it far easier than normal with a real-life example. 

Which was going to be a problem. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t focus. Eventually, I had to give up, under the guise of being done and needing food. And then a movie. Chinese and a horror flick, her favorite. I know because she told me once and now I do it as often as I can. I don’t think she actively notices but somewhere deep in her mind it must add to it all. I use it to steal what little touches I am, letting those ideas run wild and pretending to watch the movie just as she does. Until her little snores sound in the room, it shouldn’t have taken that long but the carb-heavy food probably hadn’t helped with the small dose. I could’ve used a little more but there’s that little voice in my head, the one that wants her to wake up, whether just a little or all the way it still isn’t sure, just that the risk is important. And I can’t deny that. 

Caring as always I put her to bed. Watching her snuggle deep into the blankets of my bed, where she should be. Where she should stay. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done walking away but I don’t leave. I close the door and dart into the closet. Then I wait. Patience was something I once had an abundance of but the closer I get to my goal the longer everything seems to take. 

She sits up suddenly, fighting with what appears to be her pants and then her top. It leaves her in those tiny panties from this morning she hurried on, tucked between his sheets, and that strip of fabric that covers just enough to be decent before she cuddles back up in the blankets. It doesn’t take long for her to fall back into that gentle sleep but I can’t take any risks. Only when the digital clock across the room has signaled an hour has passed and her breathing has only deepened do I dare. Moving carefully from the dark I stand on the other side of the bed from her. Remembering how my name sounded on her lips, how warm and wet she must’ve been, wondering what she must’ve been imagining him doing. It pokes at that part of me that needs everything to happen now but logic manages to quiet it, slipping onto the bed.

She readjusts, which I expected, the sudden shift in the bed an inevitability that causes that. She doesn’t stir passed that, rolling onto her back and tucking her hand under the pillow. Pushing the blankets and exposing more of her upper body in the process. I can’t help but think this has to be fate. Sometimes everything falls together a little too perfectly, too far fetched or uncontrollable for me to plan. Today is just another example of the universe telling me that this is right, it’s meant to be and it will all work out in the end. There isn’t another option for us. It had to work. 

I roll on my side, scooting until I’m almost pressed against her. The blankets making it awkward. As much as I want to move them off her entirely, I can’t. There’s no convincing her she’s still asleep with that one. It won’t be long now, I can wait for that. I’m already going to take so much tonight. She hums and it brings me back. Here. Now.

Her.

I run my hand over the thing fabric covering her breasts and little else. She hums, the fabric already tenting, I had never imagined she’d be this responsive. It has to be her, I know it, I’d given her too low a dose for it to be just the drugs. Maybe she hadn’t been just joking or being a little over the top when she would get loose enough to joke about how sensitive to the touch she was. How her libido seemed to be like a light switch. I’d filed them away for fantasies and now it seemed all the things I had imagined were more than likely true. 

I pushed at the top, just enough to bring the nipple closest to me into view. It’s not enough to brush, not like last night, it isn’t even enough to squeeze. Before I can really think I’m swirling my tongue around it. Another hum, this one pleased and I can’t stop myself from taking the whole thing into my mouth. This hum melts into a mewl, she sighs, thighs rubbing together. But her heartbeat and breathing stay the same. I gently place my hand on her sternum, easing it lower and lower as slowly as I can manage. Feeling her warm, soft skin, how it rises and drops slowly with every breath. I can’t even begin to imagine how it would feel pressed against me. Feeling every inch of her inside and out pressed against all of me. 

I feel the lace against my fingertips and finally, dare to look down. They’re tiny, small blue things that could barely be called a scrap of fabric. I don’t even have to push my hand inside, a small sweep of my pinky moves them to the side and briefly across her slit. Her breath hitches, mine does too but soon she’s releasing it with a low moan. I lift my head, tugging the fabric back down with my teeth. There are so many reasons I need to see her face right now. Being caught is the last thing on the list, ironically, I’m more upset I missed watching the sweet noise fall from her lips. It won’t happen again.

I slip my middle finger between her lips, seeking her clit that I knew would already be screaming for my touch. I know she’s begging for it, whether she realizes she is or not. It goes beyond simply wanting. The pad of my finger brushes the bundle of nerves, another moan. This one deeper, longer, from somewhere else entirely. Her eyes twitch, her mouth falls open just a bit as if she doesn’t know this new and overwhelmingly pleasurable feeling coursing through her. I circle it softly with my finger, trying to tread the line between greedy and cautious without straying too far into either territory. It’s the thinnest ledge I’ve ever balanced on, if there wasn’t so much at stake I probably wouldn’t have been able to. I watch her eyes scrunch, her sleep loosened body unable to tense that way it needed and white-knuckling the pillow in hopes it would be enough. It won’t but she doesn’t know I’m here, not quite yet, and I’m more than happy to carry her over that edge. A bit more pressure, a bit faster, her hips rock forward, a minuscule moment unseeable to anyone else. It’s the grounding breath someone takes before daring to stand on the edge and look outward.

I’ve never been as hard as I am now, feeling her slick against me, as I bring her to the brink. The only thing I want to do is sink inside her but I know that’s greed as is the desire to rub myself against her soft thigh but I can’t deny myself that. A soft back and forth motion to match my own fingers, hopefully, the matching sensations will keep her mind from realizing my newest touch. Her breathing speeds up, so do I. Her moans are sleep laden but they’re moans and I’ve made her make those sounds. I’m the one who was going to send her over the edge so quickly. She cries out, her body suddenly tensing and forcing her deep into the mattress. I’d strayed too far, I can watch her eyelids flicker far more than they should. When she falls back to Earth they will dare to open, if only a crack, and try to absorb the world into her slumber drugged mind. I should go but I can’t leave, not when she hasn’t quite finished tumbling downwards. Not when I could have a few more seconds pressed against her as I approach my own end.

But there won’t be enough time. She exhales hard, lashes parting just the barest bit. I know she can see me, I want her too. She hums, closes her eyes, and shakes her head. It’s easy to scurry to the floor, her movements are far too slow and the next time they open I’m gone. A passing thought brought on by want, oxytocin, and melatonin. I’m forced to lay on the floor till I’m sure she’s drifted back off. Using the time to quickly and quietly bring my own release, using what was left of her on my hand to quickly push myself over that final hurdle. I had thought this would take a week, maybe two, at this rate by day five I’d be moving my stuff in.

I try to ignore the shiver of pleasure that thought shoots up my spin.

***Y***

You shot up suddenly, waking with a sudden start as if your brain had powered on for the first time in ages. There was a slight fog, you might’ve worried about how much heavier than normal drowsiness it seemed to be if the night had gone normally. But it seemed not. You could remember Peter, he had been right there, eyes glancing along the still tucked right side of the bed. His strong hand between your legs, looking at you like you were something beautiful. Something truly precious to him. You can feel what little wetness is left between your lips and the dampness of your panties. It truly felt as if he’d been here, it goes straight to your core.

“No,” you hum, throwing backing the blankets and scrabbling for any clothing that seemed to vaguely match from your duffel, “It was a dream, it’s always a dream,” holding them haphazardly in your arms and opening the door to a face you were hoping to shower and avoid just a little longer.

“Bad dream?” he asked, looking so genuinely concerned it drives home the point that it hadn’t been real and you were a terrible person for not only dreaming it but even considering Peter would do something like that, “You alright?” his hands resting comfortingly on your shoulders, reminding you of your exposed body.

You don’t have a chance to move back, to hide, and if you did now it would be too suspicious, “It’s fine,” you smile, shaking your head, “You know I don’t even really remember it,” but you do.

Every second, those eyes, the way his hair fell into his eyes like it was doing now. Every part of it felt so incredibly real that you’re starting to lose grasp of the arguments you’d just made to yourself about why it wasn’t. You do everything you can to focus, watching his gaze move over you before clearly deciding he didn’t believe you a bit. He’s got that disappointed look on his face and it kicks you right in the gut.

“I just,” you sigh heavily, fiddling with the fabric in your hands with the intent of keeping yourself calm, “I thought I saw someone last night but I couldn’t have and I just woke up confused is all,” pushing the words out quickly and under a long laugh, feebly hoping that will be the end of it. 

“Someone?” but it’s Peter. With that perfect smirk as he leans in the doorway, there’s no way you’re leaving until you answer his questions and they’re the last ones you want to answer. It’s him, you can’t tell him the truth and at this point, it doesn’t seem as if you can lie too well either, “Like a sexy dream?” you shrugged, the knuckles of one hand white as your gripped your jeans tightly, hiding them under the shirt, “When did you suddenly get all embarrassed about this kind of stuff? I thought that was my thing.”

“It’s just private,” you grumbled, feeling oddly small. It’s just Peter and he’s acting like he normally acts but he isn’t somehow. Looming, closer than normal, you try not to shake your head but you need to dislodge the thoughts, “Why is it so important?”

It’s his turn to shrug but it’s a bit lose like he doesn’t believe it, but you’re sure you must be imagining, “It wasn’t Eddie, was it?” you’re sure he’s just looking out for you, that’s what friends do. But you know what jealousy sounds like and it seems to be skirting the edges of the question.

“No,” using it as an excuse to shake your head just a bit harder than necessary but there’s no dislodging the madness, “Why don’t we talk about it after my shower?” trying for anything to escape.

Maybe you can ground yourself, make up some lie, anything, “I’m gonna figure it out,” stepping out of the way, “You can’t keep secrets forever, you know?” 

You laugh, hoping it sounds breezy, “I’ve got no secrets from you,” which is the most blatant lie you have ever told him.

He knows it, something slips, the same thing that you’re now absolutely had when you’d shown up two nights ago. It wasn’t darkness passing across his gaze, a fleeting thought, it was the temporary inability to hold up the facade. You’re starting to wonder how well either of you really knows the other when he smiles.

“Alright. Just as long as it’s not Eddie,” rubbing his thumb along your skin before yanking back his hand and rolling out of the doorway, “I’ll make coffee.”

“Thanks,” moving in a way that could only be described as a scurry into the bathroom.

You pushed the door closed a little too quickly, flipping the lock into place, you try to catch your breath as you flip on the water and twist the handle till it spurts out the showerhead. Only when the room is filled with the sound of water and the fan do you finally stop, taking gulps of air as you tried to sort out everything your mind had just taken in during those few short minutes. The first being that he didn’t seem to be as ignorant about your feelings for him as you had originally thought. You start there, trying to push through each thought as you yank off your clothes and moved through the shower on instinct.

You still couldn’t bring yourself to believe he had been there last night, it was impossible and had to have been a vivid dream. No doubt it was your subconsciousness way of trying to get it through your thick skull that he knew and maybe things weren’t as platonic as you thought. It hadn’t been dropping some carefully constructed mask of boyish innocence, it had just been a second where he couldn’t hide that he knew. At least you had convinced yourself of that, all too aware you were trying to shove square pegs into round holes and too terrified of losing him to care. The entire thing explodes when you step into the kitchen, dressed and hair still damp, eager for coffee because you could lie to yourself and pretend that if it still made sense after caffeine it must be the truth.

The sudden awareness between the two of us was palpable. You gulped down the room temp beverage, barely tasting it and instead trying to remember all of the tangled loops of logic you had created in the shower. It was like you couldn’t hold onto it though, every time you lost your way or simply forgot it. Nothing has really changed but suddenly everything has. You try to think of some reason to leave the apartment today but it’s almost like thinking too hard about anything else makes you dizzy and you can’t really focus on that thought either. You try water instead, it doesn’t fix anything but it eases the weight a bit. The room isn’t so hot and stifling, your thoughts while rampant at least follow some semblance of sense. With a few grounding breaths you pray instinct will kick in or better yet, he’ll be busy with homework. 

No such luck, “Are you sure you’re okay?” he’s up from the couch before you can open your mouth to protest and in front of you with his hands on your face before you get a sound out, “You’re really warm, like too warm.”

“‘M fine,” you managed to push out, it’s better than nothing, “Maybe back to bed?”

He smiled, “How about the couch? Just in case?” you nodded lazily.

There isn’t much after that, you had fallen asleep and a few hours later you woke up feeling completely fine. Totally normal. Finding the confusion and things you thought almost humorous, sometimes at your own expense, but accepting it must have been some delirium from not getting enough sleep or something like that. Peter didn’t know, that certainly hadn’t really been him, and any thought otherwise was some sort of wishful thinking. Some dumb hope that anyone as sweet or as kind or as incredibly good looking as him could ever want you for more than a fling. The familiar self-deprecation is grounding, it reminds you that your head is back on straight.

“Feeling better?” he asks just as you sit up yawning, you shake the thought he’d been watching from your mind and smile with a nod, “Good. I was really worried, you can’t scare me like that.”

“Aren’t you Spider-Man?” you shot back, climbing to your feet, “If ever there was a place to lose my mind...”

He snickered, “Let’s just pretend nothing happened, alright?” smiling widely when you let out a sigh of relief, “After you warm me up some lunch, gotta cash that in before the window closes.”

The day went on, by the time you were crawling into bed that night it seemed crazy you had truly believed it could be anything more than your imagination running wild. A part of you is scared that tomorrow you’ll wake and it’ll feel the same, unsure if you could keep talking yourself off that ledge. You curled under the blankets, getting comfortable for the night. There was something about today especially that seemed to keep you continuously relaxed and slightly drowsy. Your eyes were heavy, everything had that cotton feel, just like last night. You remind yourself it was just a dream and a little post dream madness, nothing more. As long as you remembered that in the morning, everything would be fine. It’s shaky ground but you manage to allow yourself to float gently into the sensations instead of wonder at their origin.

It must be because the bed is his, that’s why you’re always so tired and aroused by the time you’re ready to fall asleep. It smells like him, it’s where he sleeps when you’re not there and there’s something about that closeness. You wonder if maybe that’s why you keep dreaming of him, it’s the closest you’ll manage. Sleeping in his bed, touching yourself to a dream, it doesn’t sound so bad when you word it like that. Surely you can’t be expected to control what your mind conjured or how your body reacted. How would Peter even know? It’s that thought that has you sliding your hand lazily into your underwear when you swear you hear the door open when you lift your eyes, it’s closed. 

“ _Peter_.”

You meant for it to be a question. But the thought of him with your hands poised so close to your wetness. Seemingly surrounded by him. It comes out a moan. You should be worried, in case he actually was in the room. Wouldn’t he have said something? Your fingers running up and down your slit. Unless... this time when you wonder if maybe last night it had been him you let your mind wander with it. Your finger dipping between your folds and rubbing against your clit. You bite your lip, holding down a moan and feeling it rise as a muted squeak. It was what your imagination had wanted you to believe so for a few foggy moments you would. Just as you had about your panties. You press harder, this groan is unstoppable and you’re thankful for its imperceptible volume. The door will block it but that is of little importance if he truly has snuck into the room.

“ _Ohhh_ ,” a long whine that comes from deep in your throat, you bury your head in the other pillow knowing a louder sound undoubtedly comes next, “Peter.”

You stopped suddenly, right as you had begun to climb towards that perfect jumping point, feeling something snap in the room. Some changed had fluttered through the air and you could feel it push through every part of you. The bed dipped, not too far from where your face was still hidden. It had been real. All of it. If you were anyone else. If he were anyone else. If you were in your right mind- you should leave and you wouldn’t is what it came down to. If those were the parts you had managed to piece together there were untold things you might not know. You can feel a fresh rush of wetness against your fingers. Or maybe you’re asleep now and dreaming. Every night it’s getting harder to tell what is and isn’t real.

Closer and closer, fingers wrapping around your neck, thumb and fingertips resting beneath each curve of your jaw, he rolls your head. It’s real. That darkness is in his eyes, the one you’ve seen and had talked yourself out of believing. It had no intention of passing, he was showing you who he really is now. There's no going back. You don’t think you want to. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you. _This is the moment,_ those endless dark wells seem to say, _this is the moment you become mine_. That boyish softness has completely disappeared and he’s something you’ve never seen. It scares you in all the right ways, your breath stutters, your clit aches against the pressure from your finger you finally realize you never released. You’re about to when his eyes seem to darken, as impossible as it seemed.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” it cuts through the room, your pounding heartbeat.

It’s the only thing you hear, your fingers move again as if by his will rather than your own, you need his voice again. The silence is suffocating, his voice reminds you this is real. That you haven’t imagined it like you have all the times before. That this fogginess in your mind and the heaviness of your limbs is the effect of his presence and not a reminder that this is only taking place between firing synapses. Everything feels amplified to a thousand, there isn’t any climb, you’re already almost there. 

He knows, of course, he knows. His other hand pulls back the blankets, his eyes dart, groaning at the sight of your hand dipped beneath your panties and the damp spot stretched along your knuckles. You know because you follow them, unable to pull yourself away from them completely for some reason deep inside you can’t name. His free hand grabs your wrist, pulling it slowly from your panties, lifting till he can see your slick shimmering on your fingers in an invading crack of moonlight. His eyes are digging into yours instantly, a smirk that makes your entire body shake twists his lips, this is no part of Peter you’ve ever known. 

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” you groan, his grip tightening ever so slightly around the noise, “Since I first saw you,” your fingers are suddenly in view, so close to his lips, “You’ve been mine this whole time,” you know it’s true.

When his tongue circles your index finger, the one that had been pressed against you, it’s carved in stone. All you can manage is trying to breathe, even then it comes in stutters, you don’t take in nearly enough. It seems to make him need more of you, taking your middle finger in his mouth alongside it. You whine, a low, needy sound you’ve never made before. You watch his eyes roll back, his fingers digging into your jaw will bruise and you become suddenly needier at the thought. You want to grind your thighs together, desperate for any sort of friction. You can feel those sensations from this morning creeping back, the entire world is static except for him. You can’t put together the words to tell him what you want. You’re on fire, you need too many things but you know they all start with him. His firm grip and your almost useless limbs make it impossible for you to take what you crave. He hasn’t told you that you can. That noise rips from your throat once again followed by a sadder one when he let go of your wrist and your hand dropped heavily against the bed.

“It should be like this the first time,” his voice soothing, thigh slotting between yours as he seemed to glide over you, “It’s not your fault, you should know that,” he’s so close, dragging a whimper from you this time, “You’ve just never had someone love you as much as I do. It can be scary,” you can feel the tip of his tongue along the curve of your bottom lip, he has to feel the heat radiating from her core with his thigh almost touching her, “I love you, it’s all for the best.”

You’re not quite sure what it means but you’re sure he must be right, he’s always taken such good care of you. Why would that change now? It wouldn’t. Now he wants to take care of you in every way. He’s stricken the word no from your vocabulary with those words.

“I...” your mouth is dry, full of cotton and it’s hard to form a purposeful sound.

“I know,” he hushes, the softest kiss pressed to the corner of your lips, “I’ve always known,” again on the other side, teasing you, "What’s more, important is,” his grip tightens, teetering on cutting off your airway and you’re sure you’re dripping onto the sheet, “Do you need me, baby?”

You gather what air and saliva you can, making sure your ready to speak before you try, “Yes, Peter,” a croaked whisper that seems to be even more than he asked for. 

He kisses you soft and sweet, long and languid open mouth things that steal the last of your breath. Just the way you imagined, craved. His strong thigh finally pressed against you, he dipped his tongue into her mouth with your gasp. Every part of you is against some part of him. His skin, his smell. He groans against you, digging against you in all the right ways to make you desperate. To push you so close. And it’s all gone, him, his hands, the sensations. You feel like a child throwing a tantrum when you whine, searching for him with your eyes and crawling hands. You yelp, the sound of ripping fills the cool night that air slaps against your completely exposed form. You don’t have time to take it all in, his hands somehow seem everywhere and you still can’t seem to lift your own.

“I need...” you manage to push out, he stops, those dark eyes imploring. What? What did you need? So many things, too many things. What could you pinpoint? You swipe your tongue across your lips, managing to wet them with moisture stolen from him, “I need to feel you,” your fingers twitch as if to prove your point.

He’s over you, easing between your legs, “Like this?” you gasp, feeling the soft skin of his straining cock press against your sensitive lips, “Or this?” this time you cry out, feeling his teeth tug at your nipple.

It shocks your system, jolting the worst of the heaviness from you. Each movement is slow, requiring more energy than ever before but they’re not impossible. You manage to twist a hand in his hair, the sensation seems to surprise him and he groans, harsh nips traveling ever upwards until there was nowhere to look but him. One leg manages to curl upwards and around his hip. It spreads her slightly, enough for him to slip between her folds and press against her.

His head dips, mouth beside your ear, “All you’ve got to do is ask, baby,” barely a whisper before his teeth dig into the skin behind your jaw.

Your body quakes, moving him gently across every delicate nerve ending, “Please,” you’re not sure what you’re asking for just that you need it, “ _Peter, please_ ,” only he could make you beg for him to decide what to do with your body. For any touch as long as it was his, “I need all of you,” it’s inexact, incapable of explaining the feelings running rampant through you but it’s something. 

It’s enough. At least for now, it seems. His teeth disappear as he rises above you, just enough to angle his hips and press forward. You’ve never felt anything like him beginning to stretch you. You’ve never made the noise he pulls from you as he presses onward, a slow but firm push forward, that deepens that animal noise. It overpowers your grogginess, forcing energy through your body at top speed. Your hips rise to meet his, taking him fully in you and filling the room with his guttural moan. 

“So needy,” it’s almost a taunt, his hand pushing your hips hard into the bed and pulling all but the very tip of his cock from you, you couldn’t have stopped the whine even if you wanted to, “I never imagined you so needy,” you’re sure he’s trying to get under your skin but all you can focus on is that he’s imagined this, it forces you against his hand, “Just ask,” his lips curled in a smirk, you can feel more bruises forming on your hips.

“Make me yours, Peter.”

You’re not asking and it seems to be even more than he was hoping for. His grip disappears and you’re moving with him. Building a rhythm, that your hands along each other’s sweat-slicked skin follow. It doesn’t feel real, how every part of him seems to fit against you, it’s never been like this. Every part of you is captivated by him, focused entirely on the ways he makes you feel, how you seem to defy his expectations. It reminds you he’s imagined this moment, as much as you have and you begin to flutter around his smooth pace that suddenly comes to a stop. You try to move against him and his hips pin yours to the bed, your nails scramble against his skin only to meet the same fate in the hold of one strong hand. 

“Is that what you want?” his voice is heavy, thick with lust, “Once I start, who knows when I’ll stop,” dark with some promise you don’t quite understand.

He must know that but you agree all the seem. Desperate for the feeling and too naive of how long he had been imagining this night. How long he had planned it. Of course, that was part of it, wasn’t it? The biggest part. Too desperate for him to understand consequence. Even if you could, Peter’s mind would have been far beyond what you could imagine.

“Please, please make me cum?”

His hands move but yours don’t, you’re about to look up to find out why when it suddenly appears in your view as the entire perspective shifts. He keeps your hips high, the webbing keeps your hands and torso low. He slams into you from behind and you scream in a way you never have before. It’s amazing and overwhelming, you need a moment. You’re not given a chance to begin articulating the need. He thrusts at a punishing pace that makes any sound but a variation on the first one impossible. He doesn’t stop when she begins to flutter but carries on, which somehow manages to be both worse and better. She’s cumming faster and harder than she ever has, throat raw and voice hoarse. Peter doesn’t stop and for a brief moment of clarity, you realize this what he meant. Who knows when he would stop?

“Again.”

It’s an order that your body happily obliges, managing to pull another scream from your torn throat before you could only manage whimpers. Your body going limp doesn’t stop him, it’s no trouble holding you. In fact, it might be easier. You feel like a doll, his to play with, no one had ever had this power over you. Only him. Since the moment you met. You realize now what all his words mean, how much you must have hurt him, this is for him. It has to be. You can’t help the tears when you cum again, the pleasure beginning to border on pain in a way you never imagined you could enjoy. 

“ _I love you_ ,” a croak, unable to scream, “ _I’m yours_ ,” too aware to whimper.

Over and over again, the words stretch and strain when he pushes you over the cliff again and again. But you manage them between pants, he’s losing rhythm. He’s losing himself and the thought of it squeezes another orgasm out of your ragged body. You’re spinning, he’s gone and then he reappears. All of him, one leg stretched over his shoulder, hands-free and limp like the rest of you. You're still mouthing the words, losing yourself in the hunger he seems to have for you, desperate to force you once more out of your skin. His eyes on you, him above you once again. This is it. It’s only Peter. 

You cling to him, this one so different from the others. He holds you close, cooing as you lose yourself in each other. He tenses against you, dragging his hips with short thrusts as you drag him down with you. Warmth explodes from everywhere, inside and out, there’s only him and this moment. His lips are on yours, the last bit of you to smother beneath him as he comes back to himself. He doesn’t pull from you, you never want him to, rolling carefully so you lay easily on him. Sharing long, lazy kisses as you both slowly come back to your senses. 

“Say it again,” he demands against your lips, feeling him twitch inside you.

“I’m yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and feedback always appreciated. always accepting requests
> 
> youtastelikesugar.tumblr.com


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